Forever Bonds
by rebelrsr
Summary: The Legion was defeated…or was it? How will Tara, Faith, and Cat balance the fight to clean up Boston's supernatural threat while developing their dynamic as a triad?
1. Chapter 1

Title: Forever Bonds

Pairings: Maura/Jane, Tara/Faith/Cat, OFC/OFC

Disclaimer: I own only the original characters. All the really good ones belong to Joss & Co, TNT, and Tess Gerritsen, damn it.

Rating: NC-21

Warnings: Alternate Universe – BDSM, explicit D/s relationships

Summary: The Legion was defeated…or was it? How will Tara, Faith, and Cat balance the fight to clean up Boston's supernatural threat while developing their dynamic as a triad?

The bullpen was eerily silent. Cat's shoes squeaked on the linoleum floor as she wove between unmanned desks. She'd expected Jane to be there. Working.

 _Working? Really?_ Tara's good-natured mockery lit the bond.

Cat scowled. "I didn't exactly plan to beat the entire squad today." Jane was always the first one in the door and often the last one out, too. "I don't even know which desk is mine." As soon as she spoke, Cat wanted to take the words back. Dear Fate, she sounded like a five-year old.

Luckily, the two women entwined in her mind didn't call her out. Much. _Stiff upper lip, tiger,_ Faith told her as two pairs of mental arms wrapped around her.

 _No one mentions how much bonds can suck_ , Cat answered back. All she wanted was to turn around, flag down a cab, and crawl back into bed with her mistresses. Pretty much the same thing she'd been doing every day of their combination bonding and collaring leave. With a deep breath and a silent apology, she slid a barrier over their connection. Not a full-on block. Warmth continued to surround her. Enough to function. _See you tonight_.

The squad room was even emptier now that she was along in her mind. Cat stalked (she refused to acknowledge how her steps more resembled stomping) to Jane's desk and dropped into the battered chair. The wheels squeaked and the faux leather sagged in places.

"Maura keeps threatening to buy me a new chair." Jane's voice, coming from the shadows behind Cat, caused her to start in surprise. "From the look on your face, I should let her." She walked up and dumped an armful of files onto the desk. "You're a sight for sore eyes."

"At least I slept in recent memory." Between bouts of incredible sex, but Cat didn't mention that part. "You look like shit. The bags under your eyes permanent?"

Jane curled a lip at Cat. "You'll be the same way in less than a week." She gripped Cat's shoulder and manhandled her out of the chair. "Sit over there," she said, pointing toward Frost's adjoining workstation. "Frost finally decided to accept that promotion Cav's been offering."

"What the hell?" Cat stared at Jane in mingled confusion and disbelief. "I'm gone a couple of months and the whole unit changes. You gonna tell me Korsak retired now?"

Shuffling the files and avoiding Cat's eyes, Jane didn't immediately respond.

"Fuck!" Cat dropped into Frost's… _her_ desk chair.

"You've been spending too much time with that Southie lady of yours. And I haven't retired." Korsak strolled into the bullpen and pulled Cat into a bear hug. "Jane's pouting because Frost chose a computer as a partner over her. I mentioned retiring one time in passing and she decided I was going to pack it up tomorrow."

 _Korsak thinks I spend too much time with you_ , Cat told Faith without waiting for a reaction. "So you _aren't_ leaving? If you are, change your mind. Otherwise, Cav'll think I'm the Summer Glau of the squad."

His bellow of laughter filled the room. "Welcome home, kid. Tell those ladies of yours Dana has plans for a get-together as soon as we catch this latest bastard."

Welcome home. Cat settled into the chair. Looked around the squad room. At the cluttered desks and chipped paint on the walls. "I'm here now. Shouldn't take long," she told Korsak, "polishing" her nails on her shirt. "After all, I single-handedly took down the Legion."

Before she could continue boasting, Jane tossed several of the files Cat had noticed earlier onto Cat's desk. "Put up or shut up, Legion Killer."

And so it began. Cat left her desk for a cup of black sludge from the nearby coffee machine before digging into the information Jane had given her. "I thought you'd all still be working on the Bloodsucker fallout," she murmured as she stared at a shockingly brutal series of crime scene photos.

"Bumped up to Organized Crime." Korsak straightened his tie, piles of paper spread on the normally-pristine surface of his desk. "You caught the killers." His wink was timed perfectly so that Jane couldn't catch it, and Cat bit back a grin at the sour expression his comment gained from the other woman. "All the bookwork and money-chasing belongs to the white collar guys."

At least Cat and the team had gotten the glory first. Only Frost would have enjoyed digging into the complex funding and black market connections. "Murder never stops," she answered. Reaching into her backpack, Cat pulled out some of the supplies she'd removed from her old station. Pens (her lip twitched at the rainbow-hued colors), a couple of spiral notebooks, a box of nitrile gloves, a small digital camera, and a mismatched collection of flash drives.

Tara shifted and bit back a sigh. Over ten years of Council reforms didn't make the briefings less mind-numbing. The young Watcher at the front of the conference table handled his tablet and the projection screen behind him with aplomb.

His voice was nasally and droning. His comments inane and not worth her time. She stood. Unfortunately, the Watcher didn't notice. He simply continued to lecture the assembled Senior Witches and Senior Slayers. "We are still unclear on the size or location of the threat."

Unclear. It was a common theme. "The Legion fell a month ago," Tara announced. "Yet you have no new information. I've seen the reports." Pored over them with Faith and Willow (via Skype). "Why is that?"

"Ms. Maclay." The Watcher – what _was_ his name? – stared at her in obvious shock.

The man's name hit Tara in a flash of memory just in time. Being able to speak to him personally would hopefully give her scolding more weight. "Eric," he had lost the privilege of a title, "we're done here."

Several of the Senior Slayers at the table sagged in relief.

"You called an emergency meeting of all senior staff in the region," Tara snapped. "The most important people in three states. For what?" Her right hand rose in a sweeping motion. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. This _meeting_ was a waste of time. You took Slayers and Witches from key positions and spent four hours reviewing the same data we've all been studying for weeks. Who ordered this meeting?"

"I…well, I…" Eric floundered.

One of the Slayers stood. "You got the same call out we did." Everyone else at the table began to move as well. "Priority meeting of all Regional Senior Staff. Only two people in the Region have that kind of power."

Tara had asked the question for effect. She met the Slayer's gaze impatiently. "Since Buffy didn't order the meeting, that leaves your boss, Eric." The Senior Watcher in the New England Region. Tara had never met her in person. "Get her on the line."

Most of the meeting attendees who'd started to leave resumed their seats, all more interested in _this_ conversation than the previous one.

"That wasn't a request." All of Tara's lingering politeness disappeared at Eric's lack of action. He scrambled toward the polycom phone in the middle of the table. "Oh, and I'd like you to conference in Buffy, Willow, and Giles." She could see the tremor in his fingers as he began jabbing at the touchscreen. _I might be a little longer than I thought,_ she told Faith through the bond.

 _Need me to spring you, T?_ Laughter lit the thought. _Sure I can come up with a reason to drag you out._ An image of Faith draped naked over the end of their bed forced the air from Tara's lungs.

 _You'll pay for that, my Slayer_. Tara had to pull a curtain across the bond to the mental sound of Faith's husky laugh.

Her inattention had allowed Eric a chance to recover some of his moxie. "Ma'am, Ms. Maclay made me call you." More than a hint of whine turned his voice shrill.

"Senior Watcher, thank you for taking my call." Pushing Faith's teasing completely out of mind, Tara strode to the table. "I'm afraid there were some questions during the emergency session. Let me just bring in a few other people." She hit the "Flash" button and dialed Buffy's personal cell phone.

Two rings later, Xander answered. "Tara? Hey! We haven't…"

Cutting him off with a silent apology, Tara said. "Is Buffy there? I have a situation and I need her on the call for a few minutes."

"Yeah. Yeah, she's just in the shower. Hang on; I'll go get her." He was all business.

"I'm going to pull in Willow, too. Don't hang up if I'm not on the line when Buffy is ready." Tara hit the "Flash" button again, leaving Xander, Buffy, and the Senior Watcher in conference call limbo.

Giles and Willow were easier. Both were in Scotland at the International HQ. With a sense of triumph, she sat down in the chair Eric had used during his lecture. "Sorry to bother all of you," she announced. "We've got a problem in Boston." That wasn't right. Now that she was on a roll, Tara realized she was still angry over the Boston HQ's inability to gather solid information about the Legion and its connections with local vampires. Their incompetence had put Cat at risk. "Actually, in the whole region."

"What do you need?" Tara smiled at Buffy's immediate response.

"An investigation into recent personnel decisions as well as a review of all actions taken by the Senior Watcher. I'm sitting at a table with every single Senior-level Watcher and Slayer in the New England Region – and I have no idea why." Scanning the room, she noticed a few shocked expressions (including Eric's). Most of her counterparts were nodding in agreement, though.

"Giles? Will? Any objections? I know we're stretched tight right now," Buffy said.

There was a brief pause. "What gives you the right to question my decisions?" The Senior Watcher suddenly came alive on the call.

"You mean something other than the fact Tara's the highest-ranking witch in the US?" Willow asked. "Oh, not to mention that _rank_ isn't even your biggest problem at the moment. 'Cause Tara's an Adept." The ever-present typing sounds that followed Willow everywhere emanated from the room's speakers. "And once I send her this file of memos and emails I lifted from your Council accounts, you're going to be praying to every deity you can think of that she doesn't turn you into a rat."

Angry huffs and sputtering overrode the typing noises. Tara didn't notice. She was wrapped up in Willow's sharp voice and the news there _were_ irregularities with the Senior Watcher. "Willow?"

"I know you aren't at a laptop, Tara," Willow answered. "I'll fill you in, though."

Before that happened, Giles and Buffy jumped into the conversation. "What have you found?" Giles first. "I'm already drafting a personnel change request."

"Do I need to head back to Boston?" Buffy, always ready to personally involve herself in any Council hotspots.

"Don't fire up the jet yet, Buffy," Willow answered. "I mean, Tara's got the top Slayers in the Region with her. Plus, I'm sure Faith would be more than happy to protect her – not that she'll need to. Senior Watcher Featley can't do more than throw a tantrum now. I've frozen all of her Council access and sent an electronic personnel request. Giles, I hacked your account. It always takes you forever to fill out the forms. You type slower than you drive."

Not even the solemnity of the moment prevented the laughter at Giles' expense. Chuckles came from the conference call _and_ from the conference room. "Perhaps I'll have a conversation with the head of Global Information Systems and Security. Hacking into my account should surely require more time and effort. What do you think, Ms. Rosenberg?"

"Ah, your Head Hacker's pretty busy, Giles. Don't rely on her to help you stop me." Willow's voice was chirpy then it sobered as she continued. "Tara, I'm really sorry I didn't catch any of this when I was in Boston."

A loud bang exploded from the speakers. The Senior Slayer shouted something that was overridden by a curt voice, "By order of Director Summers, you've been removed from your current position as Senior Watcher in Charge of the New England Region and detained for questioning."

"Something you forgot to mention, Will?" Buffy asked.

"Oops!" Tara could easily imagine Willow's gamin grin. "I sort of arranged for Watcher Featley to be arrested. You'd have done it, too, if you'd read the crazy stuff she's done."

One of the Slayers in the conference room spoke up. "What, exactly, did you find?"

Good question. Tara settled into the hard, uncomfortable chair and waited for Willow to flood the call with facts.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I owe each and every one of you who commented, provided kudos, and reached out with requests and prompts. While some of those are being filled over in Requested Bonds, several of them are braided into the fabric of the Forever Bonds plot.

Prompt fills appearing for the first time in this chapter:

Rain Storm's prompt - Maybe one where Tara and Faith have their own Council thing going on and Cat feels a little left out? And they fix that (with fluffy means or otherwise)

A/N2: Another unbeta'd chapter, but SuperBetaLilly is back on the team and is ready to keep the Muse's love affair with grammar issues under control. Hopefully, you'll see a decrease in errors in coming chapters.

"I must have dozed off." One of the Senior Slayers, Tara thought she was from one of the DC-area HQs, mumbled. The girl played with a strand of braided hair, staring dazedly at Willow's image on the screen. "You didn't just say the Lead Tweed was part of the Legion."

Willow grimaced on the massive LED screen at the front of the room. "Well…not _part_ of. Exactly." Her hands waved as she started to break down her earlier explanation. "I mean, Watcher Featley wasn't listed on the Legion membership lists. We would have discovered that a long time ago. She just seems to have done favors for them."

The Slayer surged to her feet. Tara wanted to do the same; however, she was too busy grappling with enough anger to possibly level the entire Boston HQ if she didn't regain emotional control. "I don't fucking care if she had a membership card!" Striding forward, the Slayer planted herself in front of the screen. "The bitch pulled all of us away from our posts. With all the recent personnel changes – which fucking Featley arranged, too – my HQ's being run by a first-year Watcher and a handful of Juniors that just got promoted to Wing leaders."

A chorus of "mine, too!" came from the rest of the Slayers at the table.

Dread wrapped leaden tentacles around Tara's heart. _Faith!_ _I need you at the conference._ She rarely asked Faith to attend Senior-level meetings. Faith's rank and experience hadn't worn away her Slayer's dislike of sitting in one place or lessened the chances of a Dark Faith appearance. Today was definitely an exception. "Buffy, we need to get backup to the Region."

"I'm already working on it." Expression grim, Buffy's attention was off-screen. "I've got calls out to any House or HQ within a three-hour travel radius."

"Widen the scope." Tara grabbed for her own phone even as she met Willow's gaze on-screen. "I'm scrambling all available witches, too." _Change in plans,_ she said via the bond with Faith. _Get every single magic user in Boston to the Main Hall! I don't care if you have to pull in fortune tellers from the Psychic Network._

There was no verbal response, simply a wave of determination and worry.

"We're going to started teleporting Senior Slayers back to the largest HQs. Giles, make a priority list. We won't be able to move everyone, and I need to know who goes first." Tara didn't wait for anyone to tell her how insane her plan was. Instead, she called the High Priestess of Boston's largest coven.

"Sam!" Faith was glad the kid was the first Junior she spotted as she sprinted down the tenth-floor hallway. "Get the Wings moving. I need every Slayer, Watcher, even the fucking cleaning crew for this one."

Eyes wide, Sam nodded then bolted.

"Get 'em in the Main Hall!" she shouted after Sam. Not that Faith had any idea how the hell they were supposed to force Boston witches to come to the Council. Even when she'd been new to the Council, it had been clear most "good" witches already worked with the Slayers and Watchers. Anyone left over…well, Tara's comment on fortune tellers wasn't far off. Skeazy fuckers who promised grieving family members they could talk to the dearly departed or made Love Potions.

But Tara had ordered. And Tara, using her Lady Tara voice, got anything she wanted as far as Faith was concerned. Shoving open the office door on her left (her original destination), she headed past the secretary manning a small desk on one side of the room.

"Hey! You don't have…" The boy was cute and built but couldn't match Faith no matter how hard he tried. She ducked his outstretched hand.

Willow's Boston minion didn't look up when Faith barged in. "Don't speak," the burly, bearded man behind the massive, paper-strewn workstation snarled. "I think there's a bald patch on one side of my face from when my boss used her laser vision over the internet."

"Guess you didn't get the memo about your boss then. The rest of us already know. Willow's a bitch when the world's about to end." Faith didn't sit down. She needed to be downstairs in the Main Hall to corral the Juniors and support staff. "Unlucky day for ya' since I'm close enough to hit ya', and Willow can only yell over the phone." His head popped up. "Gimme a list of all witches worth a fuck in the city. Start with the ones we can drag here in the next thirty minutes."

His expression was absolutely unimpressed. "I once laughed when a Watcher mentioned most Slayers couldn't think their way out of a paper bag. Thanks for proving that uptight asshole right."

Faith took a threatening step forward at the insult.

"What do you think Willow was having a high-speed come-apart over?" Faith stopped her advance. "Her typing skills rival Slayer speed. She beat you here by a good fifteen minutes. The list is on the printer, _and_ I sent an electronic copy to you, Willow, Mr. Giles, and every Senior Slayer in the Region."

"Uh…" Feeling like an idiot, Faith rubbed the back of her neck.

A dimple popped up under the man's beard on the left side. "Get the list. Get out." The dimple deepened. "Or my boss will call back. My girl happens to love my beard. She'd try to take Willow on if Willow managed to _really_ heat-vision it off."

Faith snorted. "And ya' don't want that 'cause then Janna'd get involved."

"Exactly." A thick finger pointed at the printer sitting on a bookcase near the door. "List. Go."

Shaking her head, Faith did as he'd ordered. "Thanks. You need help with Will, let me know. I got a personal connection with a witch who can beat her with one hand tied behind her back." The man's laughter followed Faith out of the office.

It was the only humor about any part of the Council's current situation. Faith descended into a Hellmouth of confusion, egos, and burgeoning panic in the Main Hall. Junior Slayers from Boston stood toe to toe with Senior Slayers who'd arrived for the bogus conference. Witches and bangle-wearing gypsies stood shoulder to shoulder in every corner. Ripples of magical energy sparked the air.

Faith's patience was shot before she'd taken more a single stride into the massive open room. Sticking two fingers into her mouth, she whistled, the sound slicing through the shouts and attitudes. "Yo, T! Where ya' want the troops?"

 _In the deepest, darkest hole you can find_ , Tara's mental voiced snarled. Out loud, though, the response was delivered in Tara's usual cool calm. "We're about to do the first transport. Would you please move everyone away from the Magic Crew?" Faith might not be able to _see_ Tara in the mass of people in the hall, but telling a witch from a Slayer (or even a Watcher) wasn't difficult. The smell of patchouli alone was enough.

"On it, boss." Shoving – gently, of course – Faith maneuvered two Watchers. "If ya' ain't wearing sandals, move your asses. Now!" She glared at two Junior Slayers. "And if you work for _me_ , you should be hittin' the streets. All the Wing leaders and Seniors got the list of people we need. Go find them and get out of the way of the real work!"

The crowd thinned immediately. Faith didn't stop scanning the room, though. She and Tara hadn't been in Boston long. There were pockets of angry and resentful Seniors still stationed at the HQ. Girls who'd been expecting to take over the day-to-day operation of the massive facility.

Girls who were doomed to disappointment. Faith had never wanted to run anything. Not even a tiny House in the middle of nowhere like Sunnydale. Life or Fate or sheer bad luck had spit on Faith's lack of ambition. Buffy had laughed her fool head off and promptly told Faith to get the lead out of her ass and fix the HQ that had somehow managed to miss a Vampire Master rising to power down the street.

"Who's first, T?" Faith finally spotted Tara. She was seated on the floor, legs bent up and crossed in a way that made Faith's muscles hurt just seeing it.

Tara barely glanced up. That's when Faith heard the murmur of chanting. Saw the glitter of salt on the floor.

She stopped talking and froze in place. The Magick was already underway. Faith cursed under her breath. She'd been so fucking distracted she'd nearly walked into a warded Circle.

A warded Circle with enough Power flowing to suddenly set Faith's teeth on edge. Pressure built behind her eyes and between her ears. A thousand times worse than take-off in an airplane. The full, _pushing_ increased until Faith ineffectively slapped hands over her ears. Until a scream rose in her throat.

With a sharp, soundless explosion, the pressure dissipated – and the Slayer in the Circle with Tara was gone. There was another Slayer hovering _outside_ the salt marker. A wave of Tara's hand, a slight fluoresce of blue light, and the new Slayer jumped over the salt ward and inside.

Chanting. Pressure. Fuck! Faith reeled under the repetition.

So, apparently, was Cat. _What the…going on? Head…I can't…_ Disjointed words flowed sluggishly through the bond.

Fuck! Faith chanced a look at Tara. Face ghostly white. Lined with strain and sweat. Leakage was normal at this level. Even an Adept couldn't completely close the bond while handling raw Power.

Faith was kind of used to it. Now. After a million years with a witch sharing her head. _No time to explain_ , Faith responded. Knowing Cat needed more information than she could possibly give at the moment, she stuck to curt orders. She'd have to smooth any ruffled feathers over once they survived the current shit storm. _Close the bond. Now, tiger. Close it and don't open it no matter what._ Suiting actions to words, Faith did her best to completely cover the link to Cat.

The lack of connection - and the knowledge that Cat wouldn't understand being locked out – added to the pounding in Faith's head. She stumbled under the increased onslaught. There was no time to collapse or recover. A callused hand grabbed her arm.

"We've got trouble." Beka, the oldest of the Boston Senior Slayers, announced.

"No shit." Faith wrenched her arm away, nearly capsizing in the process. Her balance was still off. Her legs shaky and her head whirling. "'Case you missed it, the witches are beaming people all over the fucking place."

"I wish that was our only issue." Beka's tone was so serious that it pulled Faith through the pain and nausea.

A new sprinkle of fear edged Faith's emotions.

The Senior turned away. "Buffy needs you in the conference room."

The world was ending. Faith was sure of it now. Buffy didn't _need_ Faith unless the world was about to be sucked into a Hellmouth. She used a burst of speed to clear the Main Hall. Five flights of stairs and a warren of hallways later, Faith skidded to a stop in front of the large, circular conference table. Buffy's image took up the entire screen at the end.

"We were too late," the image said.

"Too late for what?" Faith didn't really want to know.

Buffy's face disappeared. What replaced her on the display would haunt Faith's nightmares forever.

Bodies of young girls. Slayers. Baby fucking Slayers. All dead. _Slaughtered_. The screen splintered into a dozen images. Different backgrounds. Faith recognized some of them. Rooms from HQs in New York, Baltimore, and DC.

"How…" The rest of the question stuck in her throat.

"I missed it, Faith," Buffy answered. Self-loathing dripped from every word. Words that sprang from the speakers lining the conference room. The screen went blank, the horrific pictures gone but not replaced. "All the transfer notices. Dozens of them over the last year. Most of them moving people who weren't qualified into critical positions. I didn't check over any of them. I didn't even see the mountain of complaints that poured in from Slayers or Watchers already at those HQs."

The Legion? How long had they been around? What the _fuck_ was their endgame? This wasn't an overnight arrangement. "We ain't got time to wallow, B." Faith heard the waver in her own voice. She _wanted_ to wallow as much as Buffy. They were two of the oldest and most experienced Slayers left on the Council. They should have seen this coming. They hadn't, and hundreds of people had died. "We have to find who did this, and we have to figure out why. What happened in Boston with Master Phillip… This is way the fuck bigger."

An incoming call notification blinked in one corner of the screen. Faith numbly reached out and pressed the button to answer. "Hello?" The voice on the other end of the call didn't wait for Faith to say anything. "I hope you can hear me." Faith's hand knotted on the tabletop. The voice was so fucking _young_. Young and shaky and terrified.

This wasn't going to be good. Muscles taut, Faith braced for…whatever horror the kid on the phone would reveal.

She still wasn't ready.

"Someone's here." The voice grew soft. The next words a mere whisper. "I don't know who."

Throat burning, Faith responded in a similarly soft voice. "Is there..is there anyone with you?" Was Faith going to have to listen to this little girl die? She couldn't. She couldn't _stand_ here and do nothing.

"Three of us are hiding." The words devolved into a sniffle.

The sound broke something in Faith. "Where are you?" Her question was louder. Harshly demanding. Driven by fear and anger. "Which HQ?" She'd run all the fucking way there if she had to.

When there was no response, Faith slapped a shaking hand over her mouth. "Buffy?" There had to be a way to figure out where the baby Slayer was from.

"I'm tracing the…" Buffy's voice started, only to be cut off.

"Camden House," the little girl whispered.

Faith shouted over her shoulder as she ran from the room. "I'm on the way, kid. Don't you _dare_ get killed before I get there." She shoved people out of her way as she used every bit of speed she could muster on the way back to the witches.

Ignoring the pulse of Power that bore into her mind, Faith crossed the Main Hall in a blur. "Sam!" She didn't even know if the Junior was nearby. If the kid was there, she'd hear. If not, someone else better step the fuck up. "I need a loaded up squad at Tara's Circle yesterday! We're going in hot."

There were two Slayers standing at the Circle now. Seniors, not Juniors. Seniors trying desperately to save their own Houses or HQs. Faith jumped line. The baby Slayer in Camden House was getting help first. "Take down the Circle, T!" Faith ignored years of training and opened their bond to its fullest. _Open the fucking door. Now!_

Exhaustion and pain blew through the bond. _Wait…a minute._

They didn't have a minute. Faith's hand rose, almost touching the invisible wall of Magick cutting her off from Tara. She counted five. Ten. Fifteen seconds.

 _Come in_.

Faith did – and yanked the two Seniors with her. Five other Slayers, one of them Sam, surged into the Circle, too.

Tara met Faith's gaze. Blood trickled sluggishly from Tara's nose. Crimson droplets marked a few spots beneath solid-blue eyes. "We can't send all of you."

"You can." Faith pointed to the street witches that had been dragged to the HQ. "Add 'em to the Power Pack. Whatever ya' got to do," she snapped. For once, she didn't buckle beneath Lady Tara's Dominance. Faith had a mission and no one was standing in her way.

One of Tara's hands rose. "I need every witch we can fit inside the Circle."

People scrambled to obey. Faith and the rest of the Slayers stood shoulder to shoulder, bunched in a tight pack. As the chanting and Magick started, Faith filled in her army. "Unknown attackers at Camden. Most of the HQ's probably down. Be ready for anything."

The Magick peaked. The world thinned then disappeared in a swirl of blinding colors.


	3. Chapter 3

The magic portal vomited Faith and her band of Slayer into hell. Over a decade of cemeteries, demons, and saving the world hadn't prepared Faith for the carnage in the main living area of Camden House. Her stomach heaved. The weapons in each hand wavered.

"Holy fuck!" Sam breathed – and then puked. One of the other Senior Slayers steadied the younger girl. Faith was too busy trying not to follow suit.

Slayers and Watchers lay helter-skelter around the space. Their killers hadn't bothered with the usual tools of the trade for the Council. No arrows. No knife wounds. Gaping wounds marked the path of bullets rather than crossbow bolts.

The coppery stench of blood mixed with the even less pleasant scent of bodily fluids and death. "Suck it up, kid," Faith snapped. She was too on edge for even a semblance of control. "We have to move. Spread out. Groups of two. Search every fucking room under every fucking pillow."

Face ghostly white with bright spots of red on each cheek, Sam wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "I'm with you." She met Faith's gaze.

"Let's rock and roll, Junior." Faith was barely aware of anything other than the horror around her, the need to find the baby Slayer and her friends, and the desire to kill anything or anyone involved in what had happened at Camden House. "Stick close. Keep your eyes and ears open."

A hallway at one end of the large room held a collection of doorways. A staircase sat at the end. That was Faith's destination. With Sam trailing like a cartoon shadow, she crept in that direction. Doors opened in succession behind her. The other teams following her orders.

One way or another, they were finding the kids and getting the fuck back to Boston. Who would have thought Faith would ever consider Boston her safe haven? Her footsteps brushed along the carpeted runner on the stairs, following the flattened pile that spoke of a million pairs of feet rushing along the same path.

A path that was dotted with blood. The handrail was liberally smeared with it. So much blood it had dripped from the rail to the spindles and dried in irregular drops. A Watcher sprawled on the first landing, eyes staring sightlessly up the next set of stairs where it climbed to the second floor. The Legion had done its job. The Watcher had been old. Paunchy. His hands, as Faith observed on her way by, soft. He hadn't used a weapon in forever. A completely useless figure in a fight, just like the Legion had planned. Like the fucking bitch in charge of the Region arranged.

The second floor was worse than the first. Not the body count. No. Only a few Slayers sprawled unmoving on the carpet.

It was the _way_ they lay. Face down. In pools of blood. They hadn't been running to fight off the attackers. They'd been fleeing. Running from whoever or whatever had attacked the House. Faith knelt and gently turned the first body over.

The Junior Slayer was barely old enough to have been trained to use the dagger Faith found trapped between the body and the floor.

A choked sob spun Faith around. "Ah, kid." Sam's hand was pressed over her mouth. She was still vampire-pale. Faith understood. She desperately wanted to curl up at Tara's feet and hug Cat close. Wipe the sights and smells in this House from her memory.

Faith couldn't do that. The baby Slayer and any other survivor in Camden House needed her – and by extension Sam – to Slayer-up. "Don't make me sorry I chose you as my wingman, Junior. Figured you had what it took after you saved Cat. Was I wrong?"

She could see Sam's chin jerk upward at the curt question. "I'm fine." The wavering voice and shaky grip Faith noticed on Sam's dagger indicated otherwise.

Faith didn't call Sam on the lie. Instead, she nodded in approval. Let that approval paint her voice as she responded, "Trust you to have my back, kid." Skirting the next two bodies, Faith shoved open the first door. A bedroom. Bunk beds took up most of the room. Two desks had been built into the space under the top bunk. Papers and books covered the light gray carpeting. No blood. No bodies.

No baby Slayers.

At least, none Faith could see. "You feel anything?" Faith's senses were still clanging with the shock of Tara's Magick. She wouldn't be able to feel an army of baby Slayers or demons an inch from her nose.

Expression now locked into grim determination, Sam nodded. "Yeah. Not here, though. I…I don't think. It's weird. Muted? Like someone turned the volume all the way down but the bass is still rumbling."

Faith stepped back. "Follow it."

Sam sprang out of the room. Faith trailed her, weapons still drawn and ready. Like Shaggy and Scooby hunting a ghost in a haunted fucking castle, she dogged Sam's heels in and out of the rooms along the hallway. At the fifth door, near the end of the hallway, Sam took a deep breath. "This one," she said.

All Faith could do was trust. Sam dropped back while Faith put a hand on the doorknob. She didn't lunge inside. Scared baby Slayers with weapons didn't mix. Faith didn't want to end up a pincushion.

The door opened silently, as had all the others. This room was pristine. Not a wrinkle in the bedspreads or a book crooked on the short shelves. Faith turned her head and raised an eyebrow at Sam. She'd been practicing that move to use on Cat.

Too bad Cat wasn't there. Sam didn't wilt under the expression. She shrugged. "This is the place. I swear."

The Council, especially the Old Council, had a thing for hidden rooms. The whole rescue mission was getting more and more Scooby Doo by the minute. If there had been candlesticks on the desks or sconces on the wall, Faith would have been yanking them in hopes of a sliding wall panel. "Hey, kid," she called out instead. "It's Faith. Told ya' I'd be here. Can you hear me?"

There was no sound. Not really. Faith didn't _hear_ anything. She felt it instead. Not the twinge of Slayer senses but an ethereal shudder of relief. Sam was right. The remaining Camden House crew was in this room somewhere.

Faith closed her eyes. Centered the way Tara had taught her all those years ago in Sunnydale. _"Don't mock me, Slayer," she'd said with a grin. "It is completely possible to stop thinking. It takes practice. Push everything out until you_ _ **feel**_ _the silence inside. Then, when all that quiet takes over, you'll be able to…reach out. To find things, inside and outside, that you can't always see with your eyes."_

It took longer than Faith liked to find that quiet place. Urgency crawled through her veins alongside a need to find the Legion and punish them for what they'd done at Camden House and the other Council locations. She kept trying to use her short-circuited Slayer senses. Listened for the footsteps of the other Slayers who'd come from Boston.

Slowly, though, Faith managed to shove her awareness of the real world away. A heavy blanket of peace and quiet draped her mind. For one breath. Two.

That's when Faith realize where the survivors of Camden House were.

Right under her nose."It's OK, kid. Drop the spell. We're here to take care of you." Faith sheathed her sword and dagger, turning to face the shadowed corner between the foundation of the tallest bunk bed and the far wall.

A corner that seemed to _repel_ the light. A corner that Faith had to struggle to look at, as her brain insisted there were other places and things to see.

Without warning, the shadows slipped away. Three tiny as fuck Slayers huddled next to an equally-tiny boy. He clutched a crystal shard in his right hand, and blood dripped from his nose and both ears.

"Call 911," Faith snapped. The Council didn't have the resources to send in magical specialists and combat psychologists. The local hospital would have to do. Faith stepped forward. Four bodies met her, arms locking around her with desperate strength. "You did good," she told them over and over again.

"Everything OK?" Jane didn't glance in Cat's direction, but Cat knew her new partner was closely observing her.

There was no way Cat was giving a truthful answer. "Yeah, just… you know, trying to get back in the groove." It was an acceptable lie.

Acceptable if your partner wasn't a police detective. "Sure. I remember when me and Maura went back to work. It sucks, but she kept reaching through the bond so I wouldn't shoot Crow." The car stopped at a red light, and now Jane's piercing stare hit Cat hard. "Pretty fucking sure I didn't look like I hadn't heard from my Domme all day."

Cat prayed her poker face held. "Pretty sure I don't, either," she responded. She silently dared Jane to call her out more.

The light turned green, and Jane stepped on the accelerator. Halfway through the intersection, she laughed. "Didn't we have this conversation once before?"

A reluctant smile pulled at Cat's lips. "It does sound vaguely familiar. You don't trust me, partner. Hope that changes or this new job is going suck big time." Not that she had necessarily done much to _earn_ Jane's trust. Meeting Faith during the Bloodsucker case had set Cat back on her heels. She'd been off-kilter (at best) and a complete maverick (at the worst). Now she was hiding the throbbing headache and nausea from the leakage in her link with Tara and Faith.

Something big was happening with the Council. Faith's blunt order just before Cat's Junior Dominant had slammed the link closed had been rife with fear. Faith was _never_ afraid. Angry, yes. In fact, usually. But not afraid. Cat's muscles twitched with the need to run back to the HQ. To do whatever it took to protect Faith.

It was Tara, though, who occupied most of Cat's attention. From raw power that had sparked through the link until Cat had wondered if she was glowing to a completely black wasteland of sheer nothing. Almost as if the bond had been severed the way Cat's original bond with Faith had broken.

Cat was functioning. Barely. Only because she'd spent years as a Red Cuff. Experience allowed her to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Responding to the people and situations around her.

But inside…inside, Cat was a terrified little girl, screaming for Faith. For Tara. Needing their thoughts and emotions. Their love. Their support. What was happening to Faith? Was she hurt? In trouble? Where was Tara? Tara was Cat's rock. Calm and collected in the face of whatever Fate threw their way.

Now Tara was gone. Cat couldn't reach her. Couldn't feel her.

Panic sat like a lead balloon in the pit of her stomach. She locked her muscles, refusing to let her emotions show through twitches or tells. Jane was too sharp. The other woman would immediately know that something was wrong and that Cat had lied.

"Not you," Jane mumbled. "I blame Maura. She's got me…I don't know…caring about people and shit."

Cat laughed. She couldn't help it. Jane looked completely devastated at the realization. "You're a cop. I think that comes with the territory."

A bevy of flashing lights ahead derailed the rest of their conversation. Both of them sobered as Jane navigated through the radio cars and unmarked sedans already parked outside a large building.

This case was going to suck, Cat thought as she climbed out of the car. Murder was never pretty. But a murder like this one was guaranteed to be a fucking mess.

Sure enough, a reporter dodged one of the uniformed officers lining the perimeter of the crime scene. "Detective McClaren," why couldn't the weasel-y little bastard head for Jane, "do you have any leads?"

In the background, Cat picked up the sound of chanting. On the other side of the street, protestors with picket signs screamed comments in unison. "Let the pots run dry. No more Honey Houses. Let the pots run dry…"

Expression shuttering, Cat shouldered past the reporter. "No comment." She stalked into the building with Jane hard on her heels.

Despite the hoopla outside, it was quiet and serene inside. Soft music played from hidden speakers, detracting from the squawk of distant, unseen police radios, and the lighting was lowered. Like a restaurant after five, encouraging intimacy. No one was naked or dressed in short, satin robes, and there wasn't a single erotic painting or statue anywhere in the lobby.

"I was expecting something different," Jane muttered.

Cat didn't answer, even though she had been, too. Academies for Dominant/submissive Relief were legendary. Licensed (the legal ones) places for single Dominants or submissives to go for companionship and dynamic training classes. They'd been dubbed Honey Houses by the lurid tabloid press.

"Bet they pulled all the red velvet down before we got here." Cat saw two women coming their way. "Looks like the welcome wagon's here."

"Detectives." The younger of the two women held out her hand. A thin gold collar ringed her neck, displayed by the wide neckline of her tunic. "I'm Jasmine. This is my Academy."

Cat tuned out Jane's standard apology for Jasmine's loss. Her attention went inward, probing inside the bond.

Still nothing. Only silence. _Faith!_ Her mental scream echoed in her mind, and the bright lobby became filled with dancing black dots. Cat struggled to breathe.

"McClaren?" Jane's voice caused Cat to flinch. "Let's go. VJ's going to show us the crime scene."


	4. Chapter 4

Cat hesitated then shook her head. "You go. I'll work with Jasmine on employee records and guest lists." She didn't back down even when Jane frowned. "They don't need two of us tramping around the body."

After a pause that was a hair too long for comfort, Jane turned and followed VJ.

A tension Cat hadn't acknowledged eased. Jane trusted her. Not fully. Yet. But enough to let her work solo. One day back and Cat had already allowed her personal life to impact her work. "Can you tell me what happened?" Investigation 101. Start at the beginning. Then, go _back_ to the beginning because everyone forgot something or lied about something. Sometimes both.

Jasmine waved her hands at the lobby. "I don't really know."

Yes, she did. Cat lowered her voice and moved them slowly away from the front desk. "Is there someplace private we can talk?"

"My office." Turning around, Jasmine led Cat behind the front desk to a well-concealed doorway. The hallway it revealed was hushed. Really, _really_ good sound dampening probably. "I'm sorry. Nothing like this has ever happened here."

Normal people never handled death well. Especially the violent brand of death that spelled murder. "You're doing fine," Cat reassured Jasmine. "Come on. We'll sit down, away from what happened, and you can tell me what you remember. Nothing else. Just talking."

As they walked down the carpeted hall, Cat glanced around. This was clearly the staff area. There was no art on the walls, and there was a flattened and graying rut down the middle of the carpet. Removable nameplates announced the staff member assigned to each of the offices they passed. Senior Dominant. Two psychologists. Senior Submissive. An empty staff lounge. Jasmine's office was at the end of the corridor.

The space was large but felt cramped thanks to a massive desk piled high with files and a collection of whips and cuffs. "Why don't we sit over here?" Cat pointed to a pair of chairs and a small table tucked into the near corner.

Jasmine didn't sit so much as perch on her chair. She rubbed her fingers against each other nervously.

"Why don't you tell me about what happened today?" Cat took out her notebook and a pen. "Tell me everything. Don't think. Don't stop to clarify anything. Just talk. If I have questions or you think of something to add, we'll do that later."

"OK." With a bob of her head, Jasmine began talking. "I came in early today. We had a lot of clients scheduled. New ones. The paperwork is a nightmare. Insurance forms. Some of them were transferring from other facilities. It means I have to check with Hannah or Rick about possible plans. And we're permanently understaffed." The words flowed rapidly. Easily.

Good. Cat jotted down a few details as Jasmine continued.

"I was in my office when one of the volunteer submissives pressed a panic button on the third floor," Jasmine said. "It's not uncommon. Like any club, even the best Dominant or submissive can trigger a client's deeply buried fear, or – less often – there's a fight. I grabbed my radio," Cat noticed a row of them in a charging station on the bookcase behind Jasmine's desk, "and I ran out. VJ and two of the staff Dominants were already there when I got arrived."

Now the flow of information was slower. Choppier. "There was so much blood." Cat waited while Jasmine pulled handfuls of tissues from a box on the table and wiped her eyes. "Derrick was one of our newest employees. He'd been here only a couple of months but was already popular with the Dominant guests. I can't imagine anyone wanting to hurt him."

When Jasmine didn't resume the story, Cat carefully began to direct their conversation. "You said Derrick was popular. Could any of his clients have been jealous that he wasn't exclusive?"

"No," Jasmine said immediately. "We get a lot of recurring guests, but we're careful to rotate all of the Dominants or submissives through the client's care plan to avoid that kind of problem The only time we allow a staffer or volunteer to devote more time to any individual client is if we have a specific medical need for it. Derrick had a lot of requests, but they were from word of mouth. Several of our new clients in the last week were here because a friend had recommended Derrick."

Cat considered the information. "What do you know about Derrick? Did he have problems with any of the staff? Or at home?"

The entire interview was a waste of time. Jasmine was rattled (understandably) and knew little about Derrick Morris beyond his limited work history at the Academy. Cat gathered the usual address and emergency contact information for the victim before asking Jasmine to arrange interviews with every member of the staff currently on duty.

It was going to be a long, long day. She tried to reach through the link to Faith or Tara as she waited in Jasmine's office for the Senior Dominant. Both conduits were eerily quiet. Straining, Cat sensed a cocktail of emotions from Faith: rage, confusion, helplessness. All of it muted enough to feel almost like a waking dream.

* * *

From Tara? Nothing. Cat pushed as hard as she dared at the full-on block over the bond but gave up when the effort only woke a killer headache. Sitting up straight, she pasted on her best professions smile when a thin, gray-haired Dominant entered the office.

Tara marveled that she hadn't tumbled from her chair. The voices from the conference call fell and rose and wavered like a warped vinyl record. She gripped the armrests with uncooperative hands, desperately trying to follow the argument between Willow, Giles, and Buffy. Years protecting the world from ending – and none of them knew how to deal with this latest, _human_ threat. The wheels were coming off the Council bus.

"We can't divert all Senior staff to Boston," Buffy said. Her voice was tight and angry. She'd been repeating the same line every time Willow or one of the Slayers from the attacked HQs called for backup. "That's how this all started. If we move the best and brightest from places like Cleveland, LA, or even London, we leave _those_ locations vulnerable."

Each word drove molten spikes into the spaces behind Tara's eyes and at the base of her skull. Dear Goddess. She'd never experienced a reaction headache this bad. There was a warm tickle at her nose. She swiped at it with a tissue, noting the blood smear on the white material.

One of the Seniors on the screen, a Slayer that Tara had teleported to the HQ in Manhattan, peered directly at the camera. "If I don't get help, we're fucked, Buffy. I've got fifteen dead. All of them senior-level. I know it seems like a small number." Her voice broke. It was heartbreaking to see one of the oldest Slayers in the Council come apart. "I _know_ we're one of the three largest HQs in this region, that there are nearly a hundred Slayers left her, but they are _babies_. I can't put any of them in the field. Not after…not after what happened."

No one was field-ready. Boston hadn't lost a single Slayer, yet the girls in the HQ were emotionally damaged. Many had seen footage of the violent deaths in other places. Some had helped the magic crew and were dealing with fallout from donating personal energy stores so that more of the guests could be sent home.

The entire region was ripe for conquest.

"Xan and I'll be on a plane…" Buffy, charging to the rescue. Putting herself right in the middle of the fight.

Pushing the words out, Tara rejected Buffy's plan. "No." One simple word, spoken barely above a whisper.

It was enough to shut Buffy up. To end the constant swell of conversation in the room and on the call. Tara put both hands flat on the tabletop, gathered every bit of remaining resolve, and stood. The room swayed. Faded in and out and in and out behind a blizzard of black and gray snowflakes.

"You can't come here, Buffy. We can't protect you." Tara managed to leverage one hand from the table. She held it up to stem Buffy's argument. "Not even you could take on the Legion with what we have here. You're right, though." Wishing she could close her eyes, could chance looking away from Buffy's blazing gaze, Tara held firm. "We need support. Not the Seniors."

She had to hurry. Tara couldn't hold on much longer. Odd, ephemeral shapes now floated in and out of her vision. "Giles, can you contact the Senior Watchers for nearby US Regions? They'll…" Breaking off, she held her breath as pressure ballooned in her throat. Bile settled in a pool on her tongue. Not now. Goddess. Not. Now.

"Tara?" Three voices sprang through the Polycom at the same time.

Narrowing her focus to solving their problem, Tara ignored her friends. Ignored the need to vomit. "They…they should have the personnel files. Tell them to…" It was so hot in the conference room. "Reassign the Juniors who are not quite ready for promotion. Not the Seniors. Not the Juniors who should _be_ Seniors. But the Juniors who show promise and need a chance to use it," Tara said. "Original performance reports written by HQ Seniors _should_ be accurate. We can trust them."

Tara was out of time. Nearly blind from the pounding in her head, she trudged as quickly as possible from the room. She'd taken fewer than a dozen steps when a shadow appeared at her elbow. "Let me help you." A submissive in worn jeans and an Aerosmith T-shirt slipped an arm around her waist.

She tried to pull away and failed.

"Don't worry." His smile was impish, eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'm harmless. Really. Just ask the cops that bust me every week for being a charlatan." The words flowed over and around Tara without making sense. "I'm Erius, one of the riffraff the Slayers dragged in to help earlier."

 _That_ Tara understood. "Thanks," she mumbled.

"You sure know how to throw a party." They'd reached the hallway. The increased light and noise tangled Tara's feet. Erius pulled her closer. "We aren't going to make it, are we?"

Tara would have laughed if she'd been able. The floor was rising in undulating waves. Erius might make it wherever he was going. _She_ couldn't manage one more step.

Suddenly, Erius moved and a pair of arms lifted Tara. A young Slayer peered down at her. "We'll get you to the hospital wing, Ma'am. My Dominant's a nurse. They're already waiting on us."

The girl held her easily, and Tara relaxed enough to rest her head on the girl's chest. Part of her longed for _another_ chest. Faith's chest. It was close enough, though. Tara let the pain roll through her, safe in the girl's arms.

* * *

Cops were fucking morons. Faith crossed her arms and widened her stance. The beefy Dominant fuck trying to loom over her had exactly _zero_ chance of getting inside Camden House. Faith had only allowed EMTs in to care for the baby Slayers and witches. Investigating the murders inside, though? That was Council business.

"If you don't move, I'll arrest you for obstruction of justice!" the cop snarled.

Faith wiped at the flecks of spit his announcement left on her shirt. "You can try. I don't give you good odds." Even knowing how bad things were in other areas, Faith wouldn't back down unless Buffy showed up in person and _made_ her. Buffy was nowhere in sight. "Wanna call your boss? Ask if you can get a warrant?" She wasn't a virgin when it came to cops and laws. Local PD had no legal right to investigate an internal Council issue.

When Big and Dumb decided to muscle his way into the House, Faith put out a hand and gently (for a Slayer) shoved him off the front porch. He clattered down the steps, landing on his ass. Now he maybe had something he could "get" Faith for. Not that Faith cared. She only cared about finally getting to talk to Buffy and finding out how fast they could get a team to Camden.

"Come back with a warrant," Faith said. All of her frustration poured into her next comment. "Until then, get the fuck outta here before I left my other half rip you into pieces for trespassing." She didn't hang around to see if he and his partner left. Faith stomped back into the House and slammed the door.

The smell of death hit her immediately. She and the minis hadn't touched a thing. All the bodies and the blood were right where she'd found them.

"Trouble?" Sam slipped into the living room. Faith grinned at the twin knives Sam sported. She must have liberated them from the House armory.

"Maybe," Faith answered. She rubbed at her burning eyes as the flash of humor evaporated. "Local cops are itchin' to get in here. Ain't a secret the Council got its ass handed to it." The online articles were brutal. So many people still hated the Council, Slayers, and everything they stood for. The murder of hundreds of young girls fueled the demands for reform or outright dismantling of the whole Council, down to the last stake. Right now, with congealing blood and dozens of sightless eyes staring at her, Faith almost wished it could happen.

But the Original Scoobies had learned a terrible lesson back in Sunnydale when Buffy had given Quentin Travers an ultimatum. Innocent people died in droves if there were no Slayers there to stand between the townies and the vampires.

"Pack up the kids. We can't stay in the House." Faith's stomach hadn't stopped rolling since she'd stepped out of Tara's portal. The minis had to be worse off. The bodies weren't… _bodies_ to them. They'd been friends and mentors. "We're moving to the Magic Hut." The tiny, warded shed a few hundred feet from the back door of the House. Faith had already verified that the Legion hadn't managed to break through the wards. It would be a clean, safe place to hole up until reinforcements arrived. "Clean clothes, whatever they need to feel like fucking kids. Stuffed animals, books, whatever."

She took another look at the horror lying around them.

"Then toss it all – including the kids – out the fucking window. I'll catch 'em," Faith promised.


	5. Chapter 5

The kids were finally asleep. Faith wished she could join them. She couldn't. She was the ranking Slayer in Camden now. That meant making sure the House and all its survivors continued to survive. Unable to relax, Faith prowled the tiny Magic Hut where they'd moved earlier in the day.

It was crammed with enough magical crap to keep Willow happy for a whole hour. Too bad spell books and potion ingredients couldn't fix the bodies rotting in the main house or help the young Slayers and witches forget what had happened. Mind running in tight circles that matched her pacing, Faith searched for a solution.

She couldn't leave Camden unprotected. There was a reason the Council had built a House there. Actually, nine reasons. Three cemeteries and six family burial sites. Not to mention all the small coastal towns from there to Bangor. Faith was stuck with a handful of minis and one Junior.

A little of her anxiety eased. Sam was good under pressure. The kid had bent but not broken when she'd been kidnapped by the Legion. And she'd followed Faith into that magical portal without question. With Faith's tension on simmer, her mind kicked into gear.

They needed backup. Fast. But getting it was a problem. Every House and HQ in the Northeast would be clamoring for able bodies. Faith reached for Tara and hit a wall. Fuck! Her fingers drummed impatiently on her thighs. If Tara was still unavailable, she'd have to get creative.

Over the years, Faith had learned the best "creative" ideas came from one source: Willow. Faith dialed Willow's number from memory – and listened to the phone ring without answer. She tried again with the same result.

Pacing gave way to staring into the evening sky through the Hut's single window. Faith and Sam would have to shoulder the burden of patrolling Camden until Faith could find a better solution. Exhaustion pulled at her, settling on her shoulders. Faith closed her eyes and braced against the weight of responsibility.

It didn't really help. Faith's phone buzzed in her pocket, and she fished it out.

 _Couldn't answer. Big call with the Regional Watchers. You OK?_ Willow's text lightened a little of Faith's load. The damned witch had never adopted the faster (less grammatically correct) texting abbreviations. Full words and punctuation.

Faith had no such qualms. _CamdenH. SOS. IGN._

 _You and everyone else._ Faith's phone was silent for so long after that comment she thought Willow had forgotten her. Then a series of buzzes announced Willow was back. _New NE Regional Watcher will call you. May have a solution. Stand by._

The next buzz came with caller ID. "Lehane," she barked into the phone.

"Slayer Lehane?" The woman's voice held a hint of British accent.

Enough like Giles that Faith relaxed yet different enough for her to immediately tense up again. The fucking Old Council had caused all this shit. Why would Giles or Buffy (Faith was fuzzy on the details) put another one in charge of anything? "Yeah."

"Willow said you needed my help. You're in Camden?" If Faith's less than friendly response had irritated her, the woman didn't show it.

"Yeah. Hang on a sec." Thumbing the call to mute, Faith texted Willow again. _Tweed?_

This time, the response is faster. Willow wasn't stupid. She knew Faith had trust issues. _Yep. A good one._

 _Thanks, Red_. Unmuting the phone, Faith got down to business. "I need someone to hold down the House. Don't care who." As long as it wasn't Faith. "And I'm takin' the minis back to Boston."

"Yes. Yes, I understand. Buffy showed me the footage." The woman paused, and Faith barely refrained from snapping at her to move faster. "We're already routing Juniors to the affected locations. Would two Juniors work? I can have them to you first thing in the morning. If you think more would be appropriate, I'll need more time. Another day, at least."

It wasn't ideal. Faith knew _nothing_ about the situation was. "Two Juniors and some teen Tweed or witch," she said.

There was a huff of laughter. "I heard you were a handful. Guess the rumors were right. It's a bloody good thing I'm a Mistress of Management. Two Juniors by tomorrow morning. One gangling, teenaged Watcher and her witch Master by mid-afternoon."

"Wicked." Faith dropped into a chair. Help was on the way. She'd be able to hit the road after she filled the new kids in on Camden's cemeteries and took them on their first patrol. "One more favor."

"I have very limited resources." The voice was serious now. The accent heavier.

Faith closed her eyes, rubbing at the burn through her eyelids. "Keep your pants on," she said. "I don't need more Juniors." Which was a complete lie. One Faith uttered because she _knew_ that the Council was on the verge of collapse after the murders. "Only need paperwork to keep the local cops off my ass. One of 'em thought a gun and a Dominance marker meant I was gonna let him into the House. And the name of a place that can…can clean up. We can't stay in the Magic Hut with the extra kids."

* * *

Cat's phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen. The number wasn't familiar yet had the Council prefix. "Excuse me for a minute," she told the Dominant sitting across the small table. "I need to take this." With a polite smile, Cat walked to the far end of the employee break room. "McLearen," she said as she answered the call.

"Hello?" A woman asked. "Is this Cat?"

"This is Detective Cat McLearen," Cat clarified, glad the unknown woman couldn't see her rolling eyes.

"I'm Dr. Beverly Penmark. One of your bondmates is my patient." All of Cat's amusement vanished in an explosion of panic.

Ignoring Faith's earlier order, she reached for both of her Dominants and slammed into the same mental barriers as before. Cat didn't let that stop her. She dove deeper. Pounded on the walls with everything she had.

Faith was the first to respond. _What's up, tiger?_ The warm mental touch steadied Cat even as it prodded at her. _You good? Something wrong?_

 _The Council called. Is Tara…can you feel Tara?_ It wasn't Cat's finest moment, and she realized it a split second too late when Faith's emotions poured through her in a tidal wave. Cat was shoved off her emotional footing. Swept away.

"Detective? Are you there?" The doctor's voice was a counterpoint to Faith's mental one demanding answers that Cat didn't have.

Answers Cat _needed_. "I'm here." Her voice cracked. "Tara. What happened?" Cat couldn't ask any of the other million (more detailed and urgent queries) lodged in her throat. Blindly grabbing for a nearby plastic chair, Cat sank into it as Faith's emotions threatened to suck her under.

"You don't know?" The doctor was clearly unimpressed with Cat. "Haven't you been in contact with your Dominant?"

On the edge of a dual meltdown, Cat snapped, "What! Happened!"

"Miss Maclay is suffering from a familial hemiplegic migraine. She's been admitted," the doctor responded stiffly. "She's sedated now."

A migraine. A migraine with a big name. "Uh…" She had no frame of reference other than a general knowledge that migraines were painful. "She's not in pain right now?" Cat wanted to ask if a headache constituted a medical emergency – and then immediately felt guilty. Anything involving a hospital stay was serious. _Tara's in the hospital. I'm getting details now._

"Detective, your Dominant," Cat closed her eyes at the emphasis on those two words, "depleted her magical stores, causing one of the most severe reaction headaches I've seen in fifteen years as a Council medic."

Cat's hand tightened around her phone and a blush, equal parts anger and shame, burned from her hairline to her neck. "I'm working a case," she muttered. But she remembered the way Faith and Tara had held up a full-scale joint attack on the Legion while _she'd_ been in the hospital only a few weeks before.

 _You on your way to the HQ?_ Faith's mental voice mixed with Cat's thoughts so seamlessly that she bowed beneath the pressure. "I'll be there as soon as I can. I'm at a scene and I need to notify my lieutenant," she said into the phone and to Faith.

Hanging up, Cat called Jane's phone. She hadn't seen her partner since they'd arrived at the Academy. She wasn't wasting time hunting through the facility. "Rizzoli," Jane announced.

"I've got to go," Cat said without preamble. "Tara's in the hospital and Faith's out of town."

"Go. I'll clear it with Cav. Call me or Maura if you need anything and let us know how she's doing." Jane didn't question. Didn't sound put out.

It wasn't what Cat expected; she'd just gotten back from bonding and collaring leave. "My interview notes…"

"Get the fuck out of here!" Jane snapped. "I'll stop by your place later or in the morning and grab what you got."

Cat spun and got her bearings, trying to remember the quickest way out of the Academy. "I'm going. I'm going. Bring Maura with you. We'll have dinner and talk over the case later if Tara's stable. I'll call or text once I have more details." Now that she was on the way to the HQ, Cat felt the jangle of nerves and the constant press of Faith's anxiety settle infor the long haul. _The doctor said Tara did some big magic and has a migraine. Bad enough to put her in the hospital. I'm headed to the car now, and I'll go lights and sirens all the way home._

* * *

Tara blinked. Everything was…so far away. And soft. Soft was nice. Soft didn't hurt. Much.

"Hey." It took effort to focus. To find Cat even though she was sitting pressed to the side of Tara's bed. Warm lips brushed the back of her right hand. "You had us worried. No more trying to turn your brain to mush with magic, Ma'am."

"'m fine." Oh, Fate. That hurt. The mumbled words reverberated in Tara's head, louder than the screams of a horde of Junior Slayers at an All-You-Can-Eat buffet.

Cat shook her head. "You're not," she whispered. "You had a seizure earlier." A tear streaked Cat's face. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here. I knew something was wrong when Faith told me to close the bond. I knew, and I ignored it. I should have called. I…I'm supposed to be here for you."

Unable to find the right words through the fog of drugs and the pressure-not-pain in her head, Tara managed to turn her hand enough to grip Cat's fingers for a heartbeat. "You d-did what Faith said." She vaguely remembered Faith's urgent broadcast as she'd begun teleporting Slayers back to their HQs. "Here now." Tara let the warmth of Cat's hand soak into her bones. She was so tired. "Hold me?"

"Your doctor's almost as scary as Faith," Cat said – but seconds later Cat was spooned against Tara's side.

"Not as scary…'s me?" Tara's eyes drifted closed and her words ran together at the end.

Cat's body vibrated against Tara's back. "No one's as scary as you, Lady Tara."

Tara smiled. That was better.

* * *

When Tara woke again, Cat sat at her side in the hospital bed with her laptop perched on her legs. "You're still here," Tara said, voice deeper and raspier than Cher after a three-hour concert.

She could sense Cat's surprise and…bitterness despite the drugs still messing with her mind. "Isn't this where I'm supposed to be?"

"I love having you here, sweetie." So much so. Tara remembered the excruciating pain and the need to push beyond her limits. The fear when she'd realized her reservoirs were empty. When she lost awareness of the ley lines and the team of witches serving as a power conduit. When she couldn't access her bond or feel either of her girls. "But I know you have a job." Cat had worked hard to earn her shield. Tara wouldn't be the reason Cat lost it.

A few of the lines around Cat's mouth eased. "The Loo said I could work from here for a day or so until you're out of the woods. He knows I'd be worthless worrying about you and Faith with all the shit going on right now. We've got news vans from around the world blocking the streets around the HQ. The Commissioner's approved overtime for all precincts to help manage the mess, and Willow's been busy pulling down leaked video of you and the Magic Crew playing the Teleporter Game in the Great Hall."

The heart monitor, which had been steadily beeping, picked up in pace. "Video?" Everyone knew about magic, but for the public to see what witches could do? Not to mention the social media world seeing the identities and strength of anyone in that video?

"Willow's furry minion – have you met him? He's like a grizzly bear – is hunting down any remnants." Cat grimaced. "I doubt he'll find all the individual shares, reblogs, and retweets no matter how good he is."

Tara's headache tried to burst through the drug barrier. A dull pounding sprang to life in Tara's skull.

"Great. Now Faith's going to kill me when she gets back." Cat put her laptop onto a tiny rolling table next to the bed before turning to glower fiercely at Tara. "She's already threatened to…how did she put it? 'Slay my fucking ass if you did more than breathe.'"

Cat's expression was cute rather than Dominant, and Faith's threat was so much normal bluster. It was enough to break the tension gathering in Tara's muscles. She laughed – and then winced as her head protested.

A warm body molded to Tara's side. Lips pressed to her jaw. "Rest, Ma'am. Please." Cat apparently didn't trust her to listen to the soft plea. Cat reached across Tara's body and depressed the button on the pain relief pump.

In seconds, the world slipped away.


	6. Chapter 6

"There really isn't much that we can do at this point." Tara scowled as Monica's voice emanated from her cell phone speaker. "Whoever uploaded the video hasn't done anything with them."

Except post them on the internet. Tara pressed her lips together to hold the words inside.

Monica knew Tara too well, though. She apparently heard the angry and vengeful thoughts bouncing around Tara's head. "Willow already called. She's got her team chasing even a _hint_ of them still online." There was a pause and dual clicks. "I've packed all the relevant case law I could find. Drew and I will be in Boston before you manage to climb out of bed."

Fabulous. The entire Scooby Gang and Friends knew Tara was still confined to a hospital bed. "I'm going to unleash Faith on your baby boy," she spat into the phone.

Laughter, so loud it threatened to relight the fires of Tara's migraine, answered. "Oooh! I'm positively terrified. I'll be sure the send my worthless boy into the HQ first." Monica managed to stopped guffawing, voice lower and less distinct as she spoke to someone away from the phone. When she resumed speaking to Tara, she was all business. "I wish Maxie and Trish could join us, but the doctors are worried about the baby. If Maxie even _thinks_ about moving off the couch or the bed, Trish is liable to use five-point restraints until Maxie's water breaks."

With a sigh, Tara let all her frustration drain away. It wasn't Monica's fault that she was hurt and basically helpless. That the Goddess-damned Legion had infiltrated the Council and gotten a bloody upper hand.

It _was_ Tara's (and the entire Senior Council's) fault that they'd been too arrogant to consider "normal humans" a threat. They'd all forgotten what had driven Buffy to wrest control back from the Watchers over a decade ago. All the abuse of little girls and the over-the-top elitism and political power plays…

Normal humans had no love for the Council, despite the improvements. The Legion, the video of the magical pyrotechnics, the hundreds of dead children. "I appreciate anything you can do, Monica. You and Drew keep getting sucked into the crazy."

"Now I know you need to hit the morphine button." Monica's voice held all the snark Tara had hated when they first met all those years ago in Sunnydale. "You whine worse than my worthless boy. Get back into that bed I know you're trying to leave and let those girls of yours pamper you the way they're supposed to."

Just like that, the call was over. Tara clutched her phone until her fingers ached. Why was nothing going according to plan? The room blurred, and Tara cursed. Crying was pointless. She ought to know. She'd done more than enough in the last forty-eight hours.

She could have a meltdown once they'd destroyed the Legion for real. Prying her fingers from the phone, she dialed Willow. The call went straight to voicemail. Buffy and Giles' numbers did as well. Every Scooby was running flat out.

Fine. Tara would think local rather than global. Her cellphone went onto the small table near her bed, and she picked up the handset of the landline phone.

"Duty Desk. Slayer Phillips speaking." Tara didn't recognize the voice that answered. Or the name. She didn't even know if the girl was an original member of the Boston HQ or was a transplant in response to the Legion attack.

Corralling her wandering thoughts, Tara said, "This is Tara Maclay. I need to have a Slayer or Watcher assigned to me." She didn't provide details. As the ranking witch in North America, Tara could have asked for an entire squad of Slayers to be her personal minions.

The kid on the phone hadn't gotten the message. "I'm sorry, Miss Maclay. We don't have the manpower…"

"I'm aware. However, this is an urgent request. I'll expect whoever you find to report to my hospital room in the next thirty minutes. If you or the Duty Watcher have questions, please contact Buffy." Tara wasn't wasting her time explaining anything. The young Slayer was going to learn a harsh lesson if she actually reached out to the Senior Slayer of the Council over a request for _one_ assistant. "Thank you," she added before hanging up.

* * *

Faith stiffened as tires crunched on the House drive. A black Council SUV rolled to a halt. Before she could stand from her perch on the top porch step, the passenger-side door sprang open. "Slayer Lehane?" The words cut through the air with the clipped vowels of a British accent.

Really? Dropping back onto the step, Faith scowled. Hadn't Giles and the fucking Council learned their lesson with the last Tweed twit? Did they _want_ another uptight asshole in charge of the Northeast? "Who's askin'?"

Her lips curled in satisfaction as the question (and probably her tone) set the new woman back on her heels. Faith bet one good shove would break that stiff spine. Worse than Buffy's back in Faith's first days in Sunnydale. "Senior Watcher Ailsa Fitzroy. We spoke on the phone."

They had. Damn it. Faith slumped. She'd been up, on full alert, for almost three days. "Sorry." Standing slowly, she dragged a hand over her face. "Been a shit couple of days. Did I forget you saying you were coming to Camden?"

A little of the starch left. "It was a last-minute decision. The final members of your new crew are asleep in the back seat."

Ah. The witch and his baby Watcher. "Hope you aren't expecting a vacation on the coast."

Ailsa laughed softly. "If I were, I am sure I would live to regret it." The amusement faded. "How are the children? We have so few resources; however, I can bring in whatever medical personnel you think necessary."

Willow had been right. Brit or not, this Watcher was winning points across the board. Those kids were Faith's priority, and Ailsa hadn't brushed their trauma aside. "They're OK." Or something close. "We need to get them out of here. The new Juniors got their orders. Add a witch and a Tweed… Camden'll be back up and running fine." Especially since none of them would see images of blood and bodies every time they walked into the main House.

"And you?" Ailsa asked. "Are you fine?"

Her eyes were a weird light gray. They watched Faith closely. Rather than bristle the way she normally would, Faith merely shrugged. "Ain't like we got the time or the options for me to fall apart." She had Lady Tara waiting for her at the end of this trip to the abyss. Faith could let loose then.

"There is much truth in that." Ailsa turned and rapped sharply on the back passenger window. "Shall we convene our War Council? I would much prefer you brief your replacements, as you are the most aware of what challenges they face."

Big words and long sentences. If only they carried Giles' smooth tones and often wry humor. Faith shook her head at the thought. She needed to get her head on straight before she called and asked her former Watcher to read her a bedtime story.

The door behind Ailsa sprang open and a reed-thin girl with a wild mass of black hair tumbled out. "I told you to wait." A man's voice followed the girl out of the car. Seconds later, the owner of the voice climbed out with far more grace than his charge.

The kid (Watcher, Faith reminded herself with mentally rolling eyes) blushed. "Hi!" She smiled before pressing her lips together and straightening her shoulders. A rumpled replica of Ailsa.

"Welcome to Camden. Thanks for helpin' out." Faith dared anyone to say she hadn't paid attention to Tara's lectures of manners over the years. "Rest of the crew's out back." Crammed into a Magical Hut built for half their number. "Once we get done with the meeting, make yourself at home inside. Kitchen's stocked if you need something to eat or drink."

When Faith skirted the front door and strode around the side of the House, Ailsa was hard on her heels. "Once we have completed this briefing, I would like to speak with you privately."

Privately. That had the ring of bad news. Faith hesitated for one whole heartbeat before remembering she was on her own at the moment and that the Council was down and waiting for the full ten-count. "Sure." Fuck, she couldn't wait for Tara to be off the drugs that clouded the link. Or for this trip to Camden to end. Lady Tara usually handled all this shit.

They completed the rest of the walk in silence. Faith paused at the entrance to the Hut. "We're not leaving the new kids here to die, too, right?"

"I wish I could promise we are not." Ailsa was staring at the snow-covered ground when Faith dared to glance over her shoulder. "Nothing is as we expect now. I was a trainee when you and Buffy moved to take control of the Council from Quentin and his cronies. Even then, I do not remember such disarray and fear. Demons and humans working in concert? Openly moving against the Council using inside help?"

Faith was a veteran Slayer. One of the oldest still in service to the Council. She faced death constantly. It didn't make acceptance of Ailsa's answer any easier. Clenching her jaw, she pulled on her Game Face. "Too bad it won't be enough to win," she said, turning the knob to open the door.

The tingle of the Warding ran along her nerves, and the hairs on her arms stood to attention.

Unlike most Watcher-led meetings, Ailsa cut right to the chase. After she took a moment to talk softly with (and hug!) each of the Camden survivors. "I apologize for pulling each of you from your assigned Houses and HQs. We're facing the kind of threat the Council never anticipated, and we will only succeed with your help."

Ailsa touched on the expectations Faith had already laid out. Reminded each of them that, despite of the current situation, they would have all the support she and Buffy herself could offer.

When the inevitable question and answer period ended, Faith summed it all up. "You're here 'cause your Senior Slayers and Buffy trust you to get shit done. To make sure no one takes us by surprise again. You need help or just someone to vent at in the middle of the night, call me or Ailsa or even Buffy. We'll answer – and no way will we hold anything you say against you. We've all been there before."

That was it. Faith took her first full breath since jumping into the magical portal back in Boston. It was almost time to go home. She reached for Tara and Cat, resting a mental hand against Tara's full barricade and the lighter shielding from her girl. The familiar energy was enough, for now.

"Get the kids ready, Sam. Anything they want to take goes in the Council SUV." Camden House could keep the chintzy rental the Juniors had driven from the airport. She waited until Sam nodded and left, the Camden survivors trailing behind her like a train of tiny ducklings. "Alright," Faith told Ailsa. "Give me the bad news."

* * *

"This case is shit!" A file flew across Cat's desk, knocking the already ungainly pile of paperwork and other folders off the edge and onto the floor. Cat was smart enough not to complain. Jane had been in a Mood since they'd come back from a second round of employee interviews at the Academy.

Everyone had been helpful. They'd answered questions and given tours. Let Jane and Cat pick through the victim's locker again.

The result hadn't changed. Derrick Morris had been the poster boy for perfect submissives and employees. Staff and patients alike had loved him.

"Why doesn't anyone know anything about Morris?" Cat bent over to pick up the mess Jane's frustration had created.

Unsurprisingly, there was no answer. Cat didn't prod for one. She talked to herself in the hopes that it would jog a useful fact loose. "I mean, I was the new kid on the team for the Bloodsucker case. How much of my life did the crew know after the first midnight coffee run?

"More than your coffee order." Jane picked up the threads of Cat's thoughts. "If Morris was so loved, they would have known something. Some detail. He wore funny socks or kept a good luck charm in his locker."

Finally. They were _finally_ putting some of the pieces together. "Since they didn't, Morris was a loner – which not one person alluded to – or he avoided personal details."

Jane grabbed the handset to her desk phone. "Like, maybe, he was hiding something."

Or _he_ was hiding.


End file.
